Gemotions

He leaned back against the plush velvet booth, the faint hum of the jazz club a soothing counterpoint to the insistent chatter in his head. The cognac, rich and smooth, warmed his throat. He savored the aftertaste, a complex tapestry of oak and spice. Tonight, everything felt just… right.

His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the table, a subconscious metronome to the music. The world felt crisp and clear, the details sharpened. A sudden, sharp ache in his shoulder, an old, familiar friend, pulled him from his reverie.

A woman with a shock of fiery red hair and a sharp, intelligent gaze, watching him intently, leaned in. "Is that the… the tremor?" Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

He met her gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "Unfortunately. Been a lifelong companion."